


Fake It 'Til You Make It

by SnowWhiteKnight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, First Orgasm, Forced by Joffrey, Rape/Non-con Elements, but they work it out, sansan fest 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:18:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8713660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowWhiteKnight/pseuds/SnowWhiteKnight
Summary: SanSan Fest 2015 - Prompt 20Someone talks to Joffrey about women being able to fake lust. Joff, who has just dropped Sansa as his betrothed, orders his Hound to pretend to fuck Sansa, and Sansa is supposed to fake her lust. The two start the mummery. What nobody notices is that Sansa isn't just acting. Only when she dozes off does Sandor realize the little bird has just peaked for the first time - live on stage, so to speak. And clueless Joff is so impressed by the mummery, he thinks it is the best jape ever to order the two to marry.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maracuya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/gifts).



> So this prompt stayed with me for about 9 months, since SanSan Fest 2015, before I decided, "fuck it, I'm just going to write it." *sigh* So, I hope you like it. If you don't, then I profusely apologize. 
> 
> 01/05/2017 Discovered that Maracuya submitted this prompt, so gifting it to her.

“I heard the most amusing thing today,” Joffrey said to his betrothed. Sandor rolled his eyes. _This ought to be good._ The king and Lady Sansa were having a meal together, with only Sandor and Boros as guards.

“I heard that women can _fake_ their pleasure. Any and all women. Is that true, Lady Sansa?”

“I wouldn't know, your grace. I have never heard about it before.” The little bird was turning red. Sandor would have been amused if it wasn't the king making her uncomfortable.

Joffrey studied her for a few moments. “Did you ever play pretend?”

“When I was young, your grace. The usual games children play, like knights and maidens.” Poor little bird, she didn't seem to realize what she was walking into. Sandor didn't either, but he knew it wouldn't be pleasant.

“I want to see it.” _And there it is. Little shit of a king._

“Pardon?” she squeaked. She knew what he meant, she just couldn't believe it.

“Dog! You will assist. Take my betrothed to the bedchamber. Go through the motions, keeping your clothing on, but I want to hear this mummery for myself.”

The little bird needed help getting up from her chair, she was shaking so much.

“Please…” she whispered, “Don't do this.”

“You want your head to end up on a spike? I surely don't,” he growled. She looked up at him with big, scared blue eyes. He sighed. “Just moan. Pretend you're enjoying those buggering lemon cakes you love so much.”

He pushed her onto the bed, not ungently, and raised her skirt to her hips. Taking off his armor so as to not accidentally injure her, he stood in between her thighs. _How many times have I envisioned this exact scene?_ he thought ruefully. Only the little bird was willing in his fantasies, and there was no mummery in her reaction to his cock. Wishing his body could tell the difference between fantasy and reality, he sighed again and pressed into her. She squeaked and covered her mouth.

“None of that, my _lady,”_ Joffrey said gleefully. If Sandor turned his head, he could just barely see the king watching them. “Be loud. My dog wants to hear you.”

Sandor grit his teeth. “Do as he says, little bird. Else you might be in for worse.”

She nodded, tears leaking down the sides of her face.

He pressed his traitor of a cock against her, grateful and loathing that their clothing barred him from actually entering her. She gave a soft moan. He timed his impotent thrusts at an easy pace. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend as well, that she really was enjoying herself, that she wanted to be here, that she wanted him. Her voice was forced, but she was trying. A knock at the door startled everyone in the king’s chambers. Joffrey ordered them to pause for the moment and sent Boros to answer the door.

Sandor helped Sansa to a sitting position. Her face was incredibly red, and he wondered if it was warm enough to actually burn him. “You alright down there?” he asked.

“Um, yes…” She was biting her lip nervously. “May I ask you a question about...about what we're doing?”

He felt so tired of it all, he merely nodded.

“Um, the h-hardness in y-your breeches...is that…”

“Yes.” _So fucking tired of this buggering shit._

“So, if there was nothing between us, no clothing...you would probably…”

He was silent for a long while, listening to the muffled voices in the other room. It sounded like the Imp was looking for the little bird. “Yes. Does that frighten you?” he asked quietly.

“A little…” she admitted. “Why? Why would you...want to...with me?”

He looked down at her, but she was looking at her shoes, and he couldn't see her face. “Because… There are many reasons. Amongst them being that you are beautiful and kind, and any man would be lucky to have your affection.” He reddened from embarrassment, but he had just been rutting against her, so he didn't feel like he should hide his reasons. At least, not all of them.

“You find me...pleasing then? As a woman? In your bed?”

“Technically the king’s bed, but yes. I do,” he said, unable to look at her. It suddenly occurred to him that all of his admissions might make things worse once the king inevitably made them start again. The door closed and Joffrey and Boros returned to their positions.

“Begin!”

Sandor turned back to the little bird, finding her already laying down again. He closed his eyes as he “thrust” into her. Her low wail caught his attention. He opened his eyes when he felt her hands on his tunic, and found her staring at him. He squeezed his eyes shut.

 _She's not faking,_ he thought to himself. Maybe if he told himself that enough times, he might believe it. _She really is enjoying this, of being underneath me, of feeling my cock rub against her cunt… She’s not faking… Not faking..._

“This is boring,” Joffrey complained. “Talk dirty to her. I often heard my father speak of it.”

He felt Sansa's thighs tighten around his waist. She was scared, or nervous, but probably both. He had never done the whole “talking during a fuck” thing before, and he didn't really know where to start.

“You want my cock inside you, girl,” he said. “You want--”

“Tell him yes!” Joffrey shouted. “No matter what he says, you have to tell him yes!”

Sandor growled, but Sansa's hands were still on his tunic and she patted him softly.

“Y-yes,” she squeaked. “I-I want your... I want you inside me!”

 _Bugger me with a hot poker…_ He could almost believe her, wanted to believe her.

He ground against her. “You like my cock. You want my seed inside you, to coat your walls, fatten you up with my bastard.” Fuck, he was really bad at this. But Sansa didn't seem to notice. Or she was just going with it. They didn't really have much of a choice anyway. He said in a low voice, getting a little carried away but not caring, “Cry out, girl. I want to hear you come.”

“Yes, give me your bastard,” she moaned. “I want to carry your child.” Her body went rigid, and she uttered a slightly strangled cry as her groin ground against his. The area of his breeches that touched her cunt became damp.

The realization hit him like a lance to his breastplate. _She just came. She_ _really _ _came and wasn't faking it at all._

He was painfully hard, but unless he wanted to soil his clothes with cum, he wasn't going to be able to do anything about it until he got away.

“Huh...that was horrible, wouldn't you agree, Boros?” Sandor had forgotten about Joffrey.

“Yes, your grace. I didn't believe it for a second.”

_Fools. Just as well…_

“I suppose it was mildly entertaining though,” he said, though his face told a different tale. _He’s plotting something._ “Dog. Take my betrothed to her chambers. I grow tired of her.” Joffrey turned back to his meal, both Sandor and Sansa dismissed from his mind.

**********

When they reached her chambers, she took his hand and led him inside. After barring the door and checking for any wayward handmaidens, she sat him down on the bed. “Tell me what to do,” she whispered.

“Little bird?”

She gently touched her hand to his covered cock. “I want to help you, but I don't know how.”

“You don’t have to--”

“But I want to. Please allow me this… Sandor.” She looked at him nervously, not out of fear of him, but fear of rejection. He swallowed hard.

“Alright, but on the bed. Don’t want to hurt your knees on the stone floor…”

**********

The next day, Sandor stood beside the king in the throne room. He could still feel the little bird’s lips on his cock, her kiss on his cheek, her tongue tangling with his. She had promised they could be together again, if he wanted more. Was he dead? Of course he wanted more. He almost missed the King’s question, though he had no idea what the brat was talking about.

“What say you, Dog?”

“As you say, your grace.” Standard answer, usually for the best. The audience was set abuzz and he worried for a moment to what he had just agreed to, but the king called for silence.

“That settles it! Tomorrow at noon, the Lady Sansa Stark will marry my dog, and give him a litter at the earliest convenience. Varys!”

“What is your will, your grace?” the bald man asked, appearing at the king’s side out of nowhere.

“Arrange for the grandest feast we can get in the time provided. Make sure my mother doesn’t find out until the deed is done. Dog, escort your bride around the Keep for the afternoon. Make sure everyone knows about the wedding tomorrow,” Joffrey said, cackling to himself.

 _Buggering little cunt._ As much as the little bird had enjoyed herself with him, their agreement to continue had specifically included that he would not be allowed to take her maidenhead, and he was pretty sure she wouldn’t want to marry him either. She just wanted to explore her body, and Sandor was the perfect person to help her. Someday, she would marry the king, and forget about the time she spent with his dog, rutting against him when no one could ever know her shame, while Sandor would be left with the memory of what it felt like to have a pretty girl’s attention. No whore would ever be good enough, but he had the feeling that memory would last him until his dying day. _At least it would have, if Joff hadn’t fucked it all up by betrothing the girl to me. Her legs will clamp shut the moment she finds out._ He quickly looked up and around the room for her. She was on the side balcony, her pale face even paler since all the blood had drained from it in terror. _Correction. The moment she FOUND out._ He sighed and walked toward the stairway leading to where she stood as soon as the king dismissed everyone.

She met him at the bottom of the stairs, Lord Baelish hurrying to her side. “Hound, if you wait a moment, I can escort the Lady Sansa to her chambers. You needn't trouble yourself with escorting her around the keep,” Baelish said, a nervous smile on his smarmy little face.

“I’ll inform the king of the change of plans,” Sandor said, turning to walk back to Joffrey, but Baelish stopped him.

“Ah, the king needn’t know either.”

“The king will find out. There will be consequences to not following his orders, and I do not plan to be the one who suffers them,” Sandor growled. Baelish looked like he wanted to argue further, but Sansa interrupted.

“I was thinking of taking a walk around the Keep anyway. Clegane is a suitable escort, though I thank you for your offer, Lord Baelish,” she said, keeping her eyes lowered.

**********

He followed her around the Keep, trying to ignore the stares and the whispers. He kept his eyes straight ahead. Sansa kept her head held high, every bit the lady she was raised to be. _My little bride,_ he thought ruefully. He wondered if he promised to not take her maidenhead, would she still be amiable to letting him touch her, to pleasure each other? He hoped so, but knew this buggering betrothal had probably put her off their agreement. _Damn Joffrey… He ruins everything._

He followed her until dinner, stood behind her chair as she ate in the great hall with the rest of the lords and ladies of the court, then followed her again as she walked back to her room. He let her pull him inside, let her take his hand and guide him to the chair next to her vanity. He sat down, the stout chair groaning a little in protest to his weight. She stood in front of him.

“We’re to be married then?” she asked softly.

“Seems like it.”

“Are you… Does it upset you? To be married to me?” She picked up his hand in both of hers. Her delicate fingers traced the veins on the back of his hand, sending slight shivers up his spine.

“Never thought I’d marry.”

The corner of her mouth quirked up. “That doesn’t answer the question.”

He took a deep breath. “No, I’m not upset. Are you?”

“Surprisingly, no.”

“You’re not?” She was right, it _was_ surprising.

“No. You are the only friend I’ve had in this place since…” She trailed off.

“Since your father was executed,” he finished for her.

“Yes… You are the only person I can trust in this city of madness. Sometimes I think I’m the only person you trust as well.” He didn’t disagree with her. “So, why should I be upset? And we discovered that you and I are _compatible,_ physically speaking… I mean, yesterday… It was nice. And I meant it when I said I wanted to do it again. Now that the king has _ordered_ us to do so, so why not?”

“Because you want love and a shining knight, beautiful, golden haired children, a marriage that is fit for songs,” he pointed out. She kept holding onto his hand, but sat on his lap. He held onto her waist so that she wouldn’t fall off.

“A shining knight is an illusion. I don’t want golden haired children, though any children I have will be beautiful. Any marriage can be spun into a song if you try hard enough. As for love… Do you think you could learn to love me?” She looked up at him, the picture of innocence.

“Yes, little bird. I could.” He already did. It was the only thing he could call these feelings he felt for her. If this wasn’t love, he didn’t know what was.

“I think… I can love you, too,” she said.

“Then...suppose we’re getting married tomorrow.”

“It would seem so. And our wedding night…” He breathed deep, about to tell her they could skip that. “I… I look forward to that. I’m nervous, of course, but I trust you, so I am not _opposed_ to you taking my maidenhead.” The look on her face and the amount of blush in her cheeks, she was telling the truth. He pulled her in and held her close. She smelled faintly of lilacs.

“I’ll take care of you. All of our days, Sansa. No one will hurt you again.”

“I believe you,” she whispered.

 _Tomorrow, we marry. Tomorrow night, we escape._ He didn’t know how, but he had a whole day to figure it out. He looked down at her, grasping her chin in his hand and tilting her face up, meeting her lips with his. _For her, I’ll make it happen._ She looked up at him with such trusting eyes and he smiled back at her. _No matter what._

**********

Sandor woke at first light, the damned rooster crowing its fool head off. He wanted to murder that foul fowl, but the stirring next to him distracted his attention. Sansa tucked herself closer into his form, mumbling that it was too early. He agreed, pulling the blanket tighter around them.

The wedding had been small, mostly quiet. He had visited the kitchen just before the food was served and put various types of poisons in the dishes. Nothing fatal, just enough to disable the guests later in the evening. Joffrey was stuck in the privy before the bedding was even called for. It made their escape easier, and they made it to the ship he had booked passage on without detection. Tyrion Lannister had helped a bit, spreading rumors that the Lannister Hound was seen exiting King’s Landing on his way to Clegane Keep.

There had been no time for a bedding before their escape, but Sansa told him she’d rather not have everyone involved and had been more than happy to settle for consummating their marriage in their small cabin, once her seasickness had subsided. Their trip to Eastwatch by the Sea had been...more than adequate, in his opinion.

They were now guests of a farmer and his wife, sleeping in the barn, two days away from Castle Black, on their way to seek shelter with her half-brother and King Stannis. Depending on what the Lord Commander said, they would either stay at the Wall, or continue on to one of the Free Cities, or maybe stay in Westeros, just in the South. The far South, like Dorne or Oldtown. He smiled to himself. The possibilities were great and his wife trusted him to keep her safe. He would not let her down.


End file.
